My breastfeeding story - part three
This week, my mum read my five-month baby update post, and told me it was 'much better than the one with all those pictures of breast pumps'. So sorry, to anyone who feels similarly - I know the last two posts on my experiences with breastfeeding have been heavy on the TMI factor, feel free to skip if detail of this kind of thing is not for you! I had quite a lot of responses from my last post, but mostly on Facebook (if you're on Facebook and fancy giving me a like, you can do so here!). Some of them made me feel defensive again, and then I had to take some deep breaths and remember that it's me who's being oversensitive and that people (on the whole) mean well. On a similar note, when Daphne was first born and I was still trying my best to breastfeed with little luck, I changed my Facebook profile picture to one of me, Daph and Oli, and in the picture Oli was feeding Daph from a bottle. I got lots of likes (as you do when you put up pictures of your newborn baby, I've been happy to discover!) and comments, but then some random Facebook acquaintance wrote 'Bless. Is that formula she's drinking?' and I burst into ridiculous tears.
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I also felt furious with her for thinking she had any right to comment or ask, and considered writing back that it was none of her bloody business, but instead, I did the rather more kneejerk thing and deleted the comment and removed her as a friend. Such were my levels of sensitivity. The irony was that Daphne was actually drinking expressed milk. Ha.
On a similar note, I remember an innocuous comment on the Whatsapp thread of my NCT group - it seemed my group had universally got the hang of breastfeeding, and there was just one other lady who had had issues with it at the start - it was such a relief not to be the only black sheep. But then she managed to get the hang of it after a week or so, and said something like 'So glad I've managed it, it's SO worth it'. Again, not intended as a dig (it's not all about you Charlotte!) but I couldn't help but take it as yet more criticism and evidence of my failure.
I started to seek out friends who'd had similar issues, and I can't tell you how comforting it was to hear of mates who'd stopped after a month with mastitis, or those who'd hated the whole thing - not that I was pleased that other people were going through what I was going through, but it really stopped me feeling like the Only Person In the World Who Couldn't Breastfeed.
Anyway, I continued to try. I continued to pump as much as humanly possible, but as Daphne got bigger she inevitably got hungrier, and the amount of milk I could express began to fall behind what she needed more and more, meaning she had to have more formula to make up the shortfall. Every day I would pump some milk then sit with Daph and try to get her to latch on with the nipple shield, and I would say only one day in ten did she manage it - most of the time she just screamed and hit me and went purple with rage. I'd try until I felt like my head would explode, before inevitably collapsing into sobs too. It was horrible and worst of all - ruining those precious early days with my baby.
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I decided I needed to up my milk supply, and so I started taking Fenugreek. It's a galactagogue?! For those not in the know - a weird herb that smells of curry and makes you smell of maple syrup (it really does!) but somehow increases the amount of milk you produce. I was taking huge amounts of the stuff in the hope that it would boost my supply, and it did, but only for a day or two. I ate ridiculously expensive 'breastfeeding bars' (which tasted nice but not sure had much impact). I also hired an industrial breast pump - the Medela Symphony - which was a beast of a machine, and bought a hands-free breast pump bra so that I could work both boobs at the same time.
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One day, I went to my parents' for Sunday lunch, and left the funnel part of my portable pump at home. This was probably my lowest point - I was beside myself with anxiety knowing that I wouldn't be able to pump for at least four hours, which meant a) my boobs would be in agony and b) it would reduce my supply the next day. But a teeny tiny part of me was relieved. It meant, for the first time since Chip was born, I could have a nice Sunday lunch with my whole family, and not have to scuttle off and shut myself in a room alone (and away from my lovely baby) for half an hour to pump.
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I continued though, using the monster machine. One day, I noticed that my nipples had started to go white. My boobs also ached unbearably as if they were bruised. I wondered if I was doing them some damage with all this pumping and suction. I googled the white nipple thing and found hundreds of other posts from other pumping mums complaining of the same thing. Apparently it's when the blood supply to your nipple begins to be cut off. It's called NIPPLE BLANCHING. Doesn't sound good does it?
About a week after this, I realised that I was pumping less milk each day, despite pumping just as often. My boobs were giving up on me. It was almost like they were giving me permission to stop - all the advice said 'pump more to increase your supply' but nothing I did made any difference. It started to hurt so much I couldn't bear it. I'd never been more miserable while never being more in love. Just short of six weeks after Daphne was born, I pumped my last bottle of milk - a measly 25ml. I left it on the side in the kitchen and never even bothered to feed it to her. It seemed such a derisory amount now that she was so much bigger and hungrier. In tears, I asked Oli to tip it down the sink.
In a way, my body dictated when I stopped. But my mind started catching up, and the feeling of relief when I finally said to myself 'right, I'm not going to do this anymore' was overwhelming. Now I could sit and cuddle my baby without trying to force her to do something she didn't want to do! Now I no longer had to sit there for hours on end with a machine vibrating away and sucking at my nipples! Now I could wear NORMAL BRAS and normal clothes - daft things that started to help me rebuild my self-esteem.
I couldn't wait to get rid of the huge, ugly industrial pump. I packed away all the things related to breastfeeding - my poor worn out Medela Swing, the bottles, my nipple shields, nipple cups (used to catch leaks - EVERY LITTLE BIT COUNTS), breast pads, nipple creams, horrible breastfeeding bras. I'd be lying if I said I didn't sob as I did this, but I'd look over at my lovely, happy, healthy baby and keep reminding myself that that was all that mattered. I put the whole experience into a mental box and stuck it in my mental cupboard under the stairs. Something to deal with another day. Now I was going to get on with being a mum.
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And every day, it's been a bit easier. Every day, I've felt a bit happier about it. I spent hours doing research into the benefits of breastfeeding and it's all very inconclusive. There's slight evidence that it stops your baby getting tummy bugs in the first year (most likely because there's more risk of contamination with bottle-fed babies) but all the stuff about them not getting obese, or diabetes or having higher IQs is totally unproven.
Now that Daph is five months old and happy and we're totally into the swing of things with formula - I do wonder if I had another baby whether I would put myself through all the heartache again. I almost feel I'd be afraid to try - for me, breastfeeding = insanity. And now, I have a different perspective on it when I talk to my friends who are breastfeeding and are stuck to their babies 24/7, unable to go out for more than an hour or two without pumping. I feel almost smug and liberated. I love that Oli can feed Daph just as easily as me too.
I read a lot about breastfeeding during my six-week struggle, and there were a few articles that really really helped me. I've linked to them below in case they help you too. I'd also advise you to stay away from bloody KellyMom - for me, it feels like every article is written as if to say there's no other way than the breast. And for anyone who's dealing with a similar situation, there's one piece of advice that I'd like to pass on. I can't remember where I read it now, and it sounds a bit wanky, but it was basically about letting your child choose their own path, and respecting their decisions. In my case, Daphne very definitely 'chose' to be bottle-fed - probably because of her early experiences but still. I had to take myself in hand and ask why exactly I was persisting in trying to force her to do something she didn't want to do - was it mostly for my own self-esteem? In which case, I was failing as a parent anyway.
It was this little kernel of thought that really allowed me to give up. And it's something I'm going to bear in mind as general parenting advice in future too.
The Case Against Breastfeeding - The Atlantic
The Backlash Against Breastfeeding - The Guardian
Why Formula Feeding Was Right for Me - Parenting.com
Midweek Musings: kitchen tables and life without a laptop
Hello y'all. You may (or may not!) have noticed that I've had a little pre-spring clean of the blog! I loved my old template but I realised it was quite difficult for people to find older content as it wasn't really signposted anywhere, and I noticed lots of people were searching for my old pregnancy updates. Hopefully now they are easier to find - and not too in your face?! If you like the template, then can I recommend its designers Pipdig, who I've been really impressed with. They have lots of clean, efficient designs for bloggers and are really good value too - check 'em out. Is it just me or does January feel like it's dragging on?! I've had enough of the cold and dark now - I'm ready for spring. On a more cheery note, finally, our new kitchen table arrived! As I've mentioned before, in my titchy kitchen I used to have a small Victorian table that I picked up for £40 at Ardingly Antiques Fair (sidenote: if you love furniture, it's a must-visit). It suited my purposes pre-baby, but we knew that when we started to wean Chip we would need something bigger as we'd have to give up our TV dinners in the living room *hangs head in shame*. Obviously, choosing a new kitchen table is a task that's right up my street thanks to my day job, so I couldn't wait to get stuck in.
It's not a huge space so we were limited in what would fit. This was the one I wanted (LOVE LOVE LOVE Ercol furniture, have lots of it in my living room)...
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But here's what we ended up with.
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I know. I'm disappointed in me too. I weighed it up for days (ask Oli, it's true) but decided that as we're (fingers crossed) going to be moving house soon, it was daft to spend rather a lot of money on a small kitchen table, when hopefully in our new place we'll have space for a really big one (ooh er). So we went with the cheapie option (£120!!!), and actually I have to say considering the cost, it looks really lovely. The Ikea democracy strikes again.
In other news - and I've already tweeted about this, sorry, snore snore - my stupidly expensive shiny gold (pah) Macbook is currently in hospital after suffering from one too many ailments. Seriously, I love this machine - it's the lightest computer I've ever owned and the screen is beautiful. But it's shit. Really. I only bought it last summer and ever since then I've had no end of annoying issues with it - first up, it drops the Wifi connection for no apparent reason after about an hour. You have to disconnect then reconnect and then it works again. Not the end of the world, but enough to get irritating. Then I noticed the keyboard (it's got this new fancy pants 'butterfly' keyboard which means there's not much of a click when you hit a key) started sticking randomly, meaning I'd have to properly whack keys to get it to type. Difficult if you're a fast typer (and no, I didn't spill anything on it). Then one day the keyboard gave up completely and the whole computer when mental - basically the keyboard switched itself into some weird mode, sylliric (sp?) or something, which meant when I turned it off, it didn't recognise my password. I can't even remember how I fixed that now. And then finally, last week, the cable gave up charging. Rubbish!
Anyway it's been sent away to Exeter (random) to be fixed and in the meantime, I'm laptop-less, which sucks!
I wish I could take it back and swap it for a Macbook Air. I had a Macbook Pro before and no complaints. They're just heavy and more powerful than I need. In fact, this is my first Mac computer that's given me any grief. Just a little warning if you're thinking of getting one, as they're not cheap!
Finally, a little request if I may. Not the most cheerful of topics, but does anyone have any tips on getting a will done? I've realised that now we have a baby it's time to be GROWN UP about this stuff, and I really don't have the first idea where to start. Are online wills kosher? Or do you need a proper solicitor? Any advice gratefully received! Ta muchly.
THE RIVAL, my novel about career and motherhood, is on sale now. You can find out more about THE RIVAL here, and order here if you want to make my day. UNFOLLOW ME will be published in June.
Five month baby update
It literally feels like only last week I was writing my four-month baby update!
Five months is probably THE best age so far! Daphne is such a sweetheart now - she smiles whenever she sees me or Oli, she laughs so much she squeaks and she's interested in everything. She's also started putting her arms up when she wants to be picked up, which kind of makes me fall to pieces inside. Every now and then I look at her and think she's starting to look like a little girl, instead of a baby. It's quite scary really, and I have to keep telling myself to really pay attention to her every day, and notice everything about her because I can see that before too long she'll be all grown up!
For Christmas, Daphne got given a Fisher Price Jumperoo from her Auntie Soph, and she's currently in it (freeing me up to write this). The music weirdly reminds me of Johnny Cash's Ring of Fire but that's no bad thing and it keeps her entertained for ages - I love watching her reaching for things and trying to decide what to do with them (currently this seems to be putting them in her mouth). Her newest favourite hobby, along with trying to eat EVERYTHING, is pulling my hair - and quite often pulling it out (oh and have I mentioned it's falling out anyway, by the BUCKETLOAD? Ugh).
She's not rolling yet but she has started grabbing her toes with her hands and pulling her knees up to her chin, which is really cute - except when you're trying to change her nappy, when it's rather infuriating. Thankfully that's usually Oli's job, heh (we made a pact when she was tiny that I'd do all the night feeds and he'd do the nappies - HIGHLY recommend this tactic, pays off massively when they poo in the night). She's such a little wriggler at the moment and seems to delight in any attention you give her - even things like changing her nappy make her all smiley and happy.
Bad bits about five months? Well, she is still not sleeping through the night - she goes to bed at 6pm then will usually wake at around 10pm, 2am and then 6am. The GOOD thing about this routine is it means we get pretty decent evenings together now - we can actually watch TV (or we could, if I could be bothered) and eat a proper dinner together. I usually spend most of this time catching up on emails or online shopping or aimlessly surfing the internet and losing my mind on Mumsnet etc, but I consider all of these things time well spent. I've tried everything to get her to drop the 2am wake up - I don't really feed her much at night if I can help it as usually she's not actually hungry, but if I don't pick her up then she will cry and work herself up into a massive state. I feel like I've read everything that's ever been written on the subject of getting babies to sleep through and really, I've given up now. I try to sleep when I can (and have been known to fall asleep while putting her to bed, even for her lunchtime nap). It's not too bad, but there are the odd nights (like last night) where she will wake up at 2am and do a massive poo, and then obviously once you've hoiked her off to have her nappy changed, there's no chance of her going back to sleep again for at least two hours. In which case Oli and I both lie there groaning as she happily chats away to herself in her cot. I have never been as tired as I've been over the last month, and I'll definitely write a blog post on the sleep deprivation side of being a mum...
I know we could try letting her cry but, difficult though it is not getting decent sleep, it's not annoying me sufficiently yet. I'm so on the fence about the cry it out thing and really can't decide if it's good for babies in the long run, or neurologically damaging and means they end up in therapy as adults.
We can't get her to nap for longer than 45 minutes either, unless we are in the car - in which case she can sleep for hours. It's so frustrating when you read all these baby schedules that say she should be having an hour and a half's nap at lunchtime - not a chance! 45 minutes after falling asleep she's awake again, and no amount of trying to settle her will get her back to sleep. As a result, she has to have at least four naps a day, or she's a nightmare at bedtime. I'm sure that the nap issues is some way related to her inability to sleep for more than four hours at night but I'm really at a loss as to how to fix it?
Her proper cot arrived today and is sitting downstairs in its box. Lots of my friends who have babies that sleep through have already transitioned them to their own room, but the lazy side of me doesn't want to have to get out of bed in the night to tend to her if she wakes up. ESPECIALLY not in January #chilly. Currently she sleeps in a cot right next to me (the Chicco Next 2 Me) and I can even lie with my head inside her cot and mush my face right up against hers which helps settle her. I often fall asleep in this position. Obviously I couldn't do that if she was in a cot in the other room...
Other weird developments this month: she's started vomiting a lot more. She's never been a sicky baby but in the last month she's had two massive projectile vomiting sessions (always in the middle of the night, always necessitating a complete bedlinen change for both us and her - yay!). It's horrible and she goes completely GREY afterwards, and looks all sad and exhausted. Really worrying. I think both times have been caused by a cold, as she's been coughing up a bit of mucus, and I've been ill for nearly a month now so I'm sure she's got it from me. But she's also been spitting up a lot more after her bottles - not loads, but enough to be annoying. I don't know if I'm feeding her too much or what, but she always seems super hungry and always stops when she's had enough. Honest. (Yes I know she looks a little rotund but I am NOT overfeeding her. HONEST).
I'm not sure if she's teething yet as there are definitely no visible teeth in her mouth, but she has been chewing on things more, drooling and also has bright red cheeks. So I guess she is? The health visitor said it takes ages for the first tooth to come through and that she may be irritable for a long time beforehand, so that's another yay!
In other news, we've started weaning her, and she absolutely loves it - I'll do a separate post on that. It's funny, when I read all these books on weaning and they said 'don't worry if she doesn't eat anything to begin with', 'don't worry if most of the food ends up on the floor' - Daphne has mastered swallowing EVERY. SINGLE. LAST. BITE. And then crying for more. Currently she's had baby rice, carrot, cauliflower, peas and sweet potato and has eaten all of them happily. I think they make a lovely change from her horrible chemical milk. Fingers crossed it means she's going to be a champion eater... after having dealt with a complicated pregnancy, her being born tiny, not being able to breastfeed, months of colic and now her not sleeping through unlike many of her NCT peers, it would be great if just one aspect of parenting came easily... please?!
My breastfeeding story - part two
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Now where was I? I think I left you with me finally being discharged from hospital, with a tiny bottle of formula and no idea how I was going to feed my baby. It sounds selfish, but really all I was focusing on was getting some sleep. HA. The first night, Daph refused to sleep unless she was being held. So Oli got up and held her all night in the living room while I slept. Of course, that meant she didn't feed then either...
The next day is a bit of a blur - we were told that the midwife would be coming to visit us at home at some point, but I had no idea when. I can't even remember now if I tried to breastfeed Daph or not - I probably had a go but I was weirdly focused on trying to get out of the house to go and buy all the things we didn't already have that we suddenly realised we needed. Like enough sleepsuits! I think it was some way of wrestling back control after feeling like I'd lost it completely.
When the midwife arrived, she had a long chat with us and asked how breastfeeding was going. I told her not very well, and she asked me to show her what we were doing. I did so, and Daph screamed and cried as I tried to feed her, beating my boob with her little fists. The midwife (who was lovely but SO young) tried to help me get Daph to latch on for about twenty minutes, before she proclaimed that Daph was a 'reluctant sucker' and gave up. She said she'd book us in for a session with the breastfeeding specialist at the hospital when we went in to have her weighed in a few days' time, and told me to buy a breast pump and express as much as possible to ensure my supply didn't disappear. Oh and to 'keep trying'...
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So that's what we did. We bought a Medela Swing and I set about trying to milk myself like a cow. I got the hang of it quite quickly and was quite impressed when Daph drank what I had produced easily from a bottle. At least she was getting some colostrum, I kept telling myself, cheerleader-fashion. I decided maybe the problem was that she was too small and couldn't yet figure out how to latch on properly. I decided I could just carry on expressing and feeding her from a bottle, and that I wouldn't worry about trying to get her to latch on until she was a bit bigger and stronger. I suppose a bit of my heart had already gone out of the whole thing - watching Daph screaming while I tried to force her to feed was such an unpleasant experience, whereas watching her gulping happily from a bottle made me feel like I was doing something right.
But in the back of my mind, I felt this terrible pressure. IT WAS BEST FOR DAPHNE! If I didn't breastfeed SHE'D BE STUPID AND HAVE ALLERGIES! SHE'D GET TERRIBLE TUMMY UPSETS! SHE'D DEVELOP ASTHMA! EVERYONE I knew seemed to have managed to breastfeed, so why couldn't I? My hormones were all over the place, and when I woke up the next day, I had soaked the bed with milk. This weirdly cheered me up - I figured that now it all seemed to be, er, flowing, so abundantly, I'd be able to feed her easily. But it didn't matter that now she didn't have to work for it, she still HATED anything to do with my boob. Every attempt to feed her resulted in both of us crying - she would put her mouth around my nipple and then just scream in rage and frustration that it wasn't the same as the lovely silicone teat she was now used to.
Friends told me to get in touch with a lactation consultant to get the problem sorted, but if I'm honest, by then I'd had enough of all the advice. I was going insane with everyone telling me something different - spend all day in bed doing skin-to-skin (mentally I really couldn't bear this, I felt desperate to get up and wash), try different positions, different times of day, feed her a bit first so that she wasn't starving, don't feed her first so she doesn't fall asleep... I couldn't take it all in. And lactation consultants weren't cheap. I'd already spent a small fortune on bottles and sterilisers and the breast pump - all things I hadn't bought before as I'd been convinced I wouldn't need them. I'd been awake most of every night googling breastfeeding, and I was driving myself a bit nuts. I decided to wait until we saw the specialist at the hospital before doing anything more.
When we turned up however, it turned out she'd been called away to a home birth, and there was no one else I could see. I asked if we could book another appointment with her, but she was due to go on annual leave the next day (downside of August babies!). I felt very depressed by this - it was like everything was working against us, and all the while I felt this time pressure ticking away in the back of my mind, knowing that the longer we left it, the less likely it was she would ever feed successfully.
In the end, I booked a private (incredibly expensive) lactation consultant. She came over about a week and a half after Daphne was born. She was lovely and supportive but (obviously) VERY pro breastfeeding and to begin with made me feel quite shit about everything I'd been doing. She kept saying 'the main thing is you didn't leave it any longer' and all I felt was more and more pressure. She was impressed I'd kept my supply up through pumping but told me to offer my boobs to Daph EVERY HOUR day and night. She also introduced me to the nipple shield, explaining that Daphne was now completely used to drinking from a bottle and wouldn't like the different feel that a nipple had. She sat with me while we tried to get Daph to latch on using the nipple shield - and I was stunned when it worked like a charm. It was the first positive thing that had happened to me since she'd been born and I was so, so happy. Perhaps the nipple shield was going to solve all our problems.
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But what I hadn't been prepared for with breastfeeding was just how long it all took. As I was expressing at the same time, it felt like I spent my entire day on my backside or in bed, either pumping, or sitting there with a miserable, frustrated baby and a slimy, milk-soaked nipple shield trying to force it into her mouth. My bed and clothing were always damp with milk. Pretty much every day I would burst into tears at some point. All I wanted was for someone to tell me it was OK to stop. But the someone that I wanted to tell me it was OK to stop was me. And I was my own worst enemy.
I'm not a quitter in general - I'm incredibly stubborn and strong-willed when I want to do something. I had always envisaged breastfeeding as all my friends had done - I'd put on my maternal fat stores godammit, and bought a butt-ugly breastfeeding chair! It was going to happen. It HAD to happen.
In the middle of all my investigations and googling, I'd read somewhere that it could take up to 40 days to establish breastfeeding and I clung onto that. Every day I hoped for a breakthrough, but every day it got a little bit harder...
Gosh this is long. I'm sorry. There's so much to say and I can't tell if all this detail is incredibly boring or not. Really, what I wanted to talk about was the emotional side of trying to breastfeed, and giving myself permission to stop, because that's what nearly killed me. So I'll stop now and I'll cover that in part three! Something cheery to look forward to! ;)
Midweek Musings: Back on the job
Last week marked the official end to my maternity leave, as I started a new part-time position at Houzz UK as staff editor. It's pretty much the dream position for me actually, because I get to work with one of my close friends and also get to work for one of the most exciting digital companies in the interiors field today. Plus it's part time, as I said, so I still get to be a mummy who lunches the rest of the time (not going to give that up in any hurry).
It was a shock though, setting my alarm, putting on something other than pyjama bottoms and battling through the commuters like the old days. I had forgotten just how busy London is at that time, and I'm not going to lie, I felt OLD. It made me genuinely want to run away to the country and open a cattery or something.
Once I got to the office however, things improved. I'd missed the buzz of working with a big team, and a company with the investment to actually make things happen. I'd also missed lunches from EAT. Ha. I'll be writing features as well as managing some of the professional contributors who submit articles for the site and am really looking forward to getting stuck in. It'll be especially nice to be back on the journalism side of the fence after spending the last two and a half years doing commercial work.
Other than that, this week has been quite quiet as both Daph and I have had a cold so we've been in hibernation. Babies with colds are not fun. We did however, take Daph to be weighed finally at the health clinic - first time since November - and were somewhat alarmed to be told she now weighs a whopping 15lb 5. It's official, she's a porker. She's now on the 50th percentile! (I've banged on about this loads but she was on the 2nd when she was born). The health visitor was a bit snooty and said we had to keep an eye on her - at one point she stared past my shoulder and said sadly 'this is what happens with formula babies you see' and I had to resist the urge to bop her on the nose.
I won't be putting Daph on a diet any time soon (everyone says as soon as she starts crawling the weight will drop off) - in fact we're going to start properly weaning her TOMORROW as her high chair and dining table are arriving. More on them in another post - but I'm so excited to finally be getting a big table that we can actually use for the kitchen, and I'm hoping we can do more mature mealtimes with all of us sitting around the table talking about our days together.
As for weaning - we've already given her a taste of baby rice and she loved it - but my god what a mess it makes. Shall have to hide my OCD self in a cupboard or something...
Sourcebook: My Bathroom
The baby is still enjoying a delightful period of night-time wakefulness (basically, wakes at 2am screaming for no apparent reason - beginning to suspect teething; and then 5.30am whereupon she decides it's time to start the day), so I'm a little sleep deprived at the moment. Hence this rather uninspiring post - the last one detailing all the bits and bobs in my home. I've already done a blog post specifically about my bathroom makeover, but here's a list of all the products you can see in the pictures in case you like any of them!
I've decided not to do a similar post on my kitchen as to be honest very little of it is of my choosing - the cabinets are Ikea and fine but not what I would have picked, the worktop is also Ikea and is a white laminate, the flooring is godawful and I have no idea where it's from, the walls are painted in French Gray from Farrow & Ball. If you want to know any more about it then do drop me a line/leave me a comment.
But enough of that, on to the bathroom - done on a massively tight budget, I think it cost me about £2k in materials and then another £1.5k in labour.
Wall colour, Dove Tale, Farrow & Ball Flooring, vinyl in Slate Grey from The Colour Flooring Company Tiles, Topps Tiles Basin, Bauhaus from CP Hart's trade centre All taps and shower fittings, Grohe from Amazon Towels, Missoni Home from Heal's Bath, was existing bath Toilet, Duravit from CP Hart's trade centre Towel rail, Victoria Plumb Cabinet above basin, Homebase Pedal bin, SimpleHuman Cabinet above toilet, Ikea (spray-painted white)
All photos (except the last two) copyright Houzz UK and taken by the supremely talented Chris Snook.
My breastfeeding story - part one
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I've put off writing this for so long, because I know how upsetting it will be. But today I had lunch with a friend who has a month-old baby and she was talking about how painful breastfeeding was and it all came flooding back to me. And I thought, I want to write this down because it was such a HUGE thing for me to deal with, and I want any other mum out there having the problems I had to feel they are not alone.
As you may already know if you've read my birth story, Daphne was born in the evening after a three-day labour and five hours of pushing. I had to be put on a syntocinon drip in the end, and I had a catheter and a second degree tear. I lost my voice through screaming (no pain relief!), bruised my forehead against the side of the birthing pool and lost the sensation in the tips of my fingers thanks to squeezing Oli's hands so hard. I hadn't eaten anything other than sweets for 24 hours and hadn't slept for more than an hour for 72 hours*. By the end of my labour, I felt as though I had been in a car crash. I could hardly walk. Physically, I had never felt so terrible. Emotionally however, I was on a massive high. The weirdest thing is, it really was the best experience of my life.
After she was born, and I'd been stitched up (by a trainee, meaning the whole process took AGES - nothing like watching two midwifes poring over your bits, with one of them telling the other to 'do that bit a bit tighter'), I shuffled along for a shower. A shower I actually didn't really want - I would far rather have been sponged down but I was told to go and shower, so I did. I stood hunched over in the shower and bled. A lot. As you do when you've just given birth. The blood pooled all over the floor when I got out and I tried to clean it up with loo roll, but every time I bent over I felt dizzy and sick. It was so hot in that shower and I was still convinced I might die. Or faint at the very least. Anyway, after the shower from hell, I got myself dressed somehow, stuffed a huge maternity pad in my knickers and shuffled back to the room I'd had Daph in. Walking along the corridor, I remember hearing all the women in the other rooms screaming. It was a horrible sound and so strange to think I'd been making those exact noises not long before. I was wheeled in a wheelchair up to the postnatal ward, and all I could think was 'thank god, now I can sleep'.
When Daphne was first born, I had skin to skin with her as requested, and she tried her best to latch on. But we were both knackered, so she didn't quite manage it, and the midwives were preoccupied and no one really thought about me trying to feed her straight away. But she definitely tried, bless her heart.
By the time I was settled into my delightful bed on the postnatal ward, Daphne all swaddled and tucked up in her plastic cot, it was about 11pm. I said goodbye to Oli, who had to get back home to feed the cat, and collapsed into the bed.
Somehow I slept. God knows how given the adrenaline and the racket all the other new babies and mums were making. But I did. For about an hour at least. Around midnight, Oli texted me that he hoped I was sleeping but Daphne had woken up and done her first huge black sticky poo so I was busy trying to change her. My first ever nappy change and I was so tired I was almost delirious. I managed it and was quite chuffed with myself. Again, I assumed now we could sleep.
But at around 3am Daphne woke up again, and this time she was hysterical. I picked her up and tried to comfort her, but it didn't work. All I could think was how tired I was, and why wouldn't she sleep. Stupid, but it never occurred to me that she would be hungry. I don't know why. I feel so ashamed of that now. After 20 mins of hysterical tears, I got up and shuffled through the dark ward to the reception area. I found a midwife. I handed her Daphne and said 'she won't stop crying. I don't know what to do.'
The midwife looked at me and said 'have you fed her?' I shook my head. She gave her back to me and disappeared for a minute. She came back with a tiny bottle of formula, took Daphne back and fed her. I watched as my little girl gulped the milk down and then fell into a satisfied sleep.
I took her back to the ward and watched her sleeping. Then fell asleep myself.
At 6am, I was woken by someone offering me paracetamol. I took it, without wanting it particularly. I wanted sleep more. Then another nurse came round and asked me how my breastfeeding was going. I told her I hadn't done any yet. She looked genuinely concerned, then in a businesslike manner set about trying to get Daphne to latch on. But Daph was having none of it. She actually turned away from my boob. I became fixated on the fact that I smelt of shower gel, and paranoid it meant Daphne didn't recognise me from before when she'd tried to feed. The nurse helped me to hand express some colostrum which we gave to Daphne in a syringe. She threw it all up. The midwife told me to keep trying to latch her on and to express as much as possible.
The rest of that day was a blur of visitors and inspections and checks. Everyone was concerned with how small Daph was - she was only just above the weight at which they keep babies in for glucose testing. The only thing I could focus on was getting her to eat something - anything. Oh and getting out of the hospital so that I could go home and sleep. I had some formula left from the night before which I gave to her, reasoning she'd already had some so a little more was unlikely to hurt. She drank it all and didn't throw up.
At some point I was told that I wouldn't be able to go home because I had yet to successfully breastfeed. I cried. I just wanted to get out of that place so desperately, and back to my own bed. It was so noisy. Then, miraculously, Daphne seemed to latch on a bit. She took a few sucks. God knows if anything came out, but the midwife agreed to let me leave.
I took her home with a bottle of formula 'just in case'. Daphne was so tiny, all I wanted was for her to eat. And that was probably the beginning of the end for us, but I'll stop here until the next post because this is already so long and already I feel so sad remembering it all.
Read part two of my breastfeeding story >
Read part three of my breastfeeding story >
*Just a little caveat: I know most people's labours are pretty horrific, and I'm not trying to say mine was worse than anyone else's. But I didn't quite realise just how physically tired I would be - I was ready for the pain, but not the exhaustion.
Midweek Musings: New Year, New Everything?
A very happy new year to you all! I know I'm a bit late to the party but I've just got back from Dartmouth in Devon, where I spent my 35th birthday. I'll gloss over the whole 'turning 35' thing because to be honest it REALLY doesn't seem important anymore - just a bit random. Like, I remember every now and then how old I am and think 'huh, that's mad, how did that happen' then carry on doing whatever it is I was doing. Age is just a number blah blah.
Dartmouth was Chip's first official 'holiday' and it went pretty well, all things considering. Four-month-old babies certainly don't travel light - we managed to squeeze her buggy, cot, Sleepyhead, Perfect Prep machine, baby bath and car seat in my old Golf, along with ourselves and our own luggage of course. She coped pretty well with the five-hour journey, bless her, although she did decide to do a poonami both on the way there and on the way back, meaning we had to try to change her at the side of the road twice. Top tip: the parcel shelf makes a very good changing mat.
I've already written about Dartmouth so I won't go into too much detail again. But it was lovely to have Chip there with us in our favourite place, and my parents and sister also came down too so for once I had my whole family around me on my birthday. Oli and I even got to go to the cinema (Star Wars - can't remember a dicky bird about it now) - the first thing we've done together without the baby since she was born!
Best of all, I got to visit my favourite art gallery, Baxters, and bought myself a new piece of art - this serene lithograph by Alan Stones. I'm going to hang it above my pink sofa, instead of the triptych of Vogue ladies (they're framed in cheap Ikea frames and the mounts have gone a not-very-attractive shade of yellow).
Anyway I'm quite glad to see the back of 2015, although all the bad things that happened pale into insignificance when I see my little girl beaming up at me first thing in the morning. But 2016, I have high hopes for you! Namely: we need to find a new home and I need to find a new career. No pressure then...
Midweek Musings: Christmas, Christmas, Christmas!
Just a quick one this week - to wish you all a very happy Christmas!
We're spending Christmas week down at my folks', and have already enjoyed two family Christmas get-togethers and far too much cheese! Daph is being spoilt rotten by my parents and all the visitors we've had. And I've been getting some lie-ins as Granny looks after Daphne for me ;)
We also bought her a projector light show for her cot, which has worked really well at entertaining her for a bit while we groan when she's decided 6am is the time that the day should start.
Oli and I always do rather OTT stockings for each other, so I'm looking forward to that! He also said he's bought Daphne a few bits which will be a nice surprise for me :) And he already surprised me on Saturday by giving me this beautiful handmade decoration as a reminder of Daph's first Christmas! Again, I cried. Ridiculous.
I'm going to have a little break from blogging now as no one wants to read posts over the Christmas holidays. But I'll be back in the New Year (soz). Thanks to everyone who reads my ramblings, and thanks even more to those who leave comments! It's so nice to have an outlet when I'm not working - although I will be starting a new freelance job in January (eeek!) which is very exciting - more on that in the New Year...
Hope you all have an absolutely wonderful Christmas break, filled with friends, family and the aforementioned cheese! See you in 2016!
Afterthought: this post is severely lacking in snark. Must be the Christmas spirit getting to me.
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Shops you should know about: the Southbank Centre shop
It's possibly a little too late for this post, but I just had to quickly mention the wonder that is London's Southbank Centre shop, in case anyone was still trying to get hold of last-minute Christmas presents! This amazing little gem is tucked away right by the Royal Festival Hall (yay for culture!), slap bang in the middle of a load of chain restaurants (boo for commercialism!). It's brilliant for finding quirky, one-off, design-led pieces that make absolutely smashing stocking fillers.
The focus probably leans towards homewares - lots of fab cushions, prints and mugs - but there's also a really lovely selection of jewellery that's perfect for those who want something unique. When I visited a few weeks ago they also had a brilliant range of unusual and handmade Christmas cards and decorations.
The shop works with social enterprise Cockpit Arts to source products from designer-makers, and refreshes its stock every three months. Meaning you really will find stuff that's not on the high street.
Some of the products are available online but for the true experience you need to visit the actual shop. It's right by the river, and at this time of year the whole Southbank area (my favourite part of London) is covered in twinkly lights so really you have no excuse not to go.
Also, every now and then, a tube train trundles underneath the shop and you think you're in a the middle of an earthquake. Which is mildly exhilarating. What more could you want?
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